


Check Please Y4 Write-Along

by CoffeeWithConsequences



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Check Please Year 4, Coming Out, Gen, Hockey, M/M, Partying, Stanley Cup, Write Along
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-06-09 21:15:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15276339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeWithConsequences/pseuds/CoffeeWithConsequences
Summary: This is a write-along for Check, Please! S4. Each chapter goes along with one episode of the comic. Pairings, characters, warnings, and rating will change as it progresses.





	1. Wake-Up Call

**Author's Note:**

> A week or two ago I thought of this idea, as a writing exercise: every week, I want to "remix" that week's installment of Check, Please! I don't want to change anything about the story Ngozi is telling, I just want to write different angles or things that could be happening-but-not-shown alongside her comics. I intended to just do it on my own, but then I thought it might be kind of fun to share, or even for other people to join in. So, consider if this an open invitation. I'll be labeling each chapter with the date I'm posting it and the comic I'm referencing--I'm not starting until the fourth installment, so it's likely going to take me a few days to catch up to present.
> 
> Note that the lengths are probably going to vary drastically between chapters, depending on what's going on in the comic and how much I have to say about it. If you want to read along in real-time, don't forget to subscribe!

**Posted 07/13/18**

[Read the comic](http://checkpleasecomic.com/comic/4-01-01)

Bitty never told Jack about the nightmares. He told Jack loads of his secrets, his dreams, his fears, but the dreams just never came up. Or maybe he’d never wanted them to. He knew Jack felt bad about how he treated Bitty during his first months at Samwell, and he didn’t want to make that guilt worse. Besides, there was nothing he could do about them.

Bitty had nightmares about being hit, and about not being able to fight back, since he was a little kid. He’d never even really been beaten up so much as threatened, and occasionally tripped or pushed, but he still feared it. After his amazing failure at PeeWee football, the nightmares tended to center around being forced to play football and repeatedly tackled. Then, when he started at Samwell, they switched to being checked. More often than not, the disappointed face in them wasn’t Coach anymore, but Jack.

Bitty hadn’t had one of the dreams in months before the night after Jack’s Cup victory. Maybe it was the stress, or the alcohol, or staying up far, far too late. Whatever it was, it was a terrible way to end such a wonderful night. That said, waking up from that horrible dream with his head against Jack’s chest, with Jack’s heat all around him, made it a whole lot more tolerable.

“You OK, bud?” Jack said, bleary-eyed, as he answered his phone. Bitty heard George’s voice from where he’d laid his head back down on Jack’s chest. She hadn’t sounded angry--stressed, maybe--but she’d been insistent that Jack and the rest of the team not put off their press conference any longer.

“Yeah, baby, I’m fine,” Bitty insisted. Now was most certainly not the time to tell Jack about the dream. He was going to have a hard enough day as it was.

For a minute, they lay in silence, both replaying the previous day’s and night’s events. _Did we make a mistake?_ Bitty wondered. _Does Jack regret it?_ Much as he’d woken up with a knot in his stomach, he couldn’t bring himself to wish they hadn't done it. Kissing Jack out on that ice, in front of everybody in the stadium and anybody who’d like to watch it on ESPN, felt better than anything he could imagine.

“What are you thinking?” Jack asked, pressing his nose into Bitty’s hair.

“That I’m not sorry,” Bitty said. He tilted his head up to look at Jack.

Jack smiled. “Neither am I.”

There was a shuffling outside the door, then a knock. “Come on in,” Jack called.

Tater stuck his head in, his eyes nearly crusted shut. “Zimmboni,” he groaned. “Presser.” Apparently, he’d been George’s next call.

“Hey, Tater,” Jack said, shifting Bitty off him so he could sit up.

“Mornin’ Tater,” Bitty added, sitting up himself.

It was time to face the day.


	2. 24-Hour Celly

Posted 07/13/18

[Read the comic](http://checkpleasecomic.com/comic/4-2-01)

If you’d asked nineteen-year-old Jack Zimmermann what it would be like to win the Stanley Cup, he’d have given you a sound bite about hard work and dedication and having a great team. He’d have been right, but actually doing it was, for 26-year-old Jack Zimmermann, so much more than any of that.

There was his team, the Falconers, who had become a second hockey family so much more quickly than he’d ever thought possible after leaving Samwell. There was his intense pride in being one of them, and his equally intense gratitude at the way they’d welcomed him for who he was. There were heavy bodies piling on top of him, all of them screaming and sweating. Tater’s Russian cheering, Thirdy’s pleased smile. He didn’t know it until they were celebrating on the ice, the Cup in the air, but he loved these boys.

Then there was his parents. There were Bad Bob’s wet eyes. There was no critique, no “you could have,” or “maybe next time.” There was only celebration. There was meeting his father’s eyes and knowing that right now, in this moment, there was nothing but achievement. He’d won--not just done well or played hard, but won. He’d probably go back to worrying about his father’s legacy sooner rather than later--Jack was who he was--but when he hugged his parents on the ice, when his mother told Bitty “we are so proud,” all Jack felt was their love.

His Samwell team surrounding him, taking a picture with the Cup, was something he’d never known to want before he left the Q. He’d never imagined he could love or trust a group of people as much as he did them. They’d taught him more about how to play hockey in a way that mattered, in a way that was healthy, in a way that was fucking fun in four years than he’d learned in his entire first twenty. When he looked around at them, at Shitty’s wild grin, at Ransom and Holster giving each other and everybody around them endless fist bumps, at Lardo’s pleased, bright eyes, he felt like he’d finally been able to give them a little something back. They were proud of him as he’d always been of them.

Finally, there was Bitty. There was Bitty’s little body vaulting toward him across the ice, practically pushing people out of the way. There was Bitty’s tear-tracked face, his near speechlessness. There was his brave, smart, boldness. There were his lips, finally, his body in Jack’s arms, not caring who was watching. His previous self never could have imagined how it would feel to make that decision. He’d have known what it felt like to want it, but never what it felt like to actually get it.

A sense of calm joy overtook Jack when he and Bitty broke apart. People were staring. Cameras were rolling. His friends’ eyes, and then his parents’, were wide. But Bitty was right there, steady and smiling, and even though Jack knew, somewhere in the back of his tired mind, that there would be hell to pay, he just couldn’t make himself care. This was as right as he’d ever felt.

Shitty was screaming about party plans and Bitty’s phone was blowing up with texts from the boys still at Samwell. Tater was throwing his arm around Jack’s shoulder and asking him about one club versus another, about a VIP section being cleared out for the new Stanley Cup champions. Jack didn’t really hear any of it, he let it all wash over him, nodding and smiling.

“You OK?” Bitty asked, finally noticing Jack’s silence.

“I’m great, Bits,” he said. “Whatever you want to do to celebrate is fine, but let’s celebrate.”

Shitty overheard. “Bet your beautiful ass we’re celebrating, Jackalope! Go get changed and meet with your adoring public!”

It took forever before he got back to his friends. There was champagne in the locker room, there were speeches from the coaches, there was press. Finally, though, Jack had Bitty back beside him, tucked under his arm, as they were whisked away from the rink.

Even in his wildest days, clubbing hadn’t been Jack’s scene. He’d been fond of drinking then, but he didn’t like crowds, and he hated the music. Tonight it didn’t matter. The crowd seemed to part for them, and he was surrounded by people he loved. People kept handing him champagne, and he kept drinking it--it wasn’t going to hurt to do it this once. Bitty couldn’t stop smiling, and the Cup was being passed around. It was nothing Jack would have ever thought to want, but it was perfect, like some kind of dream.

Jack had no idea whose idea it was to move the party to his apartment, but he was grateful. Even though the haze of champagne, he could feel the stiffness and soreness of the seven game series setting in, and he knew he’d hate the ride home more the later they waited to take it. Besides, people were hungry--Jesus, he was starving--and there was food there. He turned to ask if Bitty wanted to bake, and found that Bitty was already conversing with Marty’s wife about necessary pie ingredients.

Bitty made his pies, and somebody ordered a huge delivery of sandwiches, and Holster showed up with a giant inflatable duck and wouldn't tell anybody where it came from. (In the morning, Jack would make him take it back to the complex pool, but for now he kind of agreed that it made for great pictures.) Jack laughed more than he had in at least a year, and drank more champagne, and yelled at Shitty to keep his clothes on. His neighbors came and joined the party, and Jack tipped the Stanley Cup back and drank from it, barely tasting the liquid, surrounded by his roaring friends.

That was the moment he thought of Kenny. It was brief, not more than a passing notion, but when he put the Cup to his lips, he thought about Kenny’s two Cup wins, about his lips in the same place. _I hope it was this good for you,_ he thought. He knew it probably wasn’t.

It was light outside when Bitty and Jack finally went to bed, probably about the time Jack usually got up. “I’m so tired,” Jack laughed. “I can’t believe I’m still upright.”

“Honey, you’re not,” Bitty giggled. They were leaning against one another, both of them too tired and too drunk to stand well on their own. “Get in bed.”

“Done,” Jack said, flopping down without even thinking about brushing his teeth. “Get over here.”

Bitty crawled up his chest and settled in, and Jack thought, before sleep overtook him, that if this was the best moment of his life, he’d have done well.


	3. Presser

**Posted 7/17/2018**

[Read the comic](http://checkpleasecomic.com/comic/4-03-01)

Dex was still not wholly comfortable with Jack Zimmermann, and less comfortable still lounging about in Jack’s clearly very expensive apartment. In the post-game celebration haze, full of booze and second-hand triumph, it had been easy enough to push his nerves aside, but now, sober and a little bit hungover, Dex couldn’t sit still. The rest of his SMH teammates, as well as Tater (and how weird was it to be casually calling an NHL superstar by his team nickname?) were spread around the living room, watching the press coverage on TV. They all seemed to make themselves right at home, sprawling all over the furniture and chirping Jack for his answers, but Dex was grateful to have the excuse of helping Bitty in the kitchen to keep him moving.

If Dex really dug down deep inside himself, he knew he wasn’t totally comfortable with Bitty, either, but at least Bitty was familiar. For every moment in which Bitty’s over-the-top emotions led Dex to back out of a room in stuttering shame, there was another in which Bitty was a calm, cheerful, caretaking force on which Dex depended. Bitty reminded him of his mom, which he got was weird, but there it was anyway.

“You OK?” Bitty asked, nodding toward a bowl of cut fruit for Dex to take into the living room. “You don’t have to do this--you can go hang out with the rest of the guys.”

“No, I like it,” Dex said quickly. The last thing he wanted was for Bitty or Jack to know being here made him uneasy. He knew enough to know that was his problem, not theirs.

Bitty didn’t question it. “OK, thanks.” He turned back to the stove.

Glancing at Bitty’s back, Dex noticed the hunched set of his shoulders. He thought of Bitty’s incandescence last night--Dex didn’t think he’d ever seen anybody so happy. Why did he look so different this morning?

Making another circle through the living room with the coffee pot, Dex noticed Bitty’s phone on the edge of the pool table. Leaning over to snag it, he found it dark, the battery dead. Dex scowled. This was just not OK. Bitty’s phone barely ever left his hand; he certainly never let the battery die. There really was something wrong.

Back in the kitchen, Bitty shrugged it off. Other people’s emotions may not have been his strongest suite, but even Dex could tell Bitty was avoiding charging it. Then, as EPSN replayed Jack and Bitty’s kiss on the ice for what had to be the 50th time and the group in the living room hooted and hollered, Dex suddenly got it.

For Dex, who met Bitty as he was at Samwell, making no attempt to hide himself, the idea that Bitty’s family didn’t know he was gay was bizarre. He and Nursey had talked about it once--Nursey went off on Southern false morality, whatever that was, and Dex eventually tuned out, but got the general idea that Bitty’s family would react badly if they knew. That made some sense--Dex was pretty sure his own family would be horrified were he to tell them he liked boys. Now Bitty’s family had to know, and if they’d just found out, along with the entire rest of the country, Dex could see why Bitty was avoiding his phone. Looking back through the kitchen door, he saw Bitty hanging his head over the counter.

Dex could count on one hand the number of one-on-one conversations he’d ever had with Jack, and he’d probably only need two fingers for the ones that weren’t about hockey. Looking at Bitty, though, he had to do something. Jack was sitting cross-legged on the floor, near the corner of the room, watching his friends with tired amusement. Haltingly, Dex walked toward him, then leaned over to speak softly. “Hey, Jack? Can I talk to you a minute?”

Jack looked up, eyes instantly concerned. “Yeah,” he said, looking around. The rest of the room remained involved in their own conversations. “Kitchen?”

Dex shook his head. “No. Alone.”

Jack looked confused, but didn’t argue, just stood and headed toward his bedroom.

Once the door closed, Dex felt himself redden. This was so stupid. But he pressed forward. “It’s...uh...it’s Bitty. I think there’s something wrong.”

Jack’s frown deepened. “Wrong? With Bits? What do you mean?”

“He just...he doesn’t look right. He looks like he’s...trying too hard to smile, you know? And...he let his phone battery die. And he’d NEVER let his phone battery die!”

Jack’s eyes went soft, his mouth turned down. “OK. Yeah.” He sighed. “I don’t know how much of this Bits wants to talk about, so I’m not gonna say anything to you about it, but...thank you, Poindexter. I’ll go see him.” Jack forced a smile, the one that always looked like a grimace to people who didn’t know him.

Dex nodded, still nervous. “I wasn’t trying to pry, I just...he’s staying in the kitchen alone and I didn’t want him to be…”

Jack smiled again, sadly, but a bit more real. “I know. I’m glad you said something.” He looked briefly angry. “I should have been paying better attention.”

Dex grinned. “You’ve had kind of a lot going on, captain.”

As he stepped toward the door, Jack turned back. ‘You know,” he said, “you don’t have to be so nervous around me, eh?” He raised an eyebrow. “I promise I don’t bite.”

Dex laughed. “OK.” It wasn’t that easy, but it was nice of Jack to say.


	4. 4.4 Calling Home

**Post 8/31/2018**

[Read the comic](http://checkpleasecomic.com/comic/4-04-01)

“You’re tired.” It seemed like such a trivial thing to say, but Jack truly had no idea what would be any better. He hadn’t tried to listen to Bitty’s end of the conversation with his parents, but even Jack wasn’t so dense as not to notice the desperation in Bitty’s voice when he repeated the question about his father’s reaction.

“You’re a Stanley Cup champion,” Bitty replied, pushing his face into Jack’s neck.

Jack wrapped his arms around Bitty’s body as tightly as he could and tried to laugh. He thought of how small Bitty felt. As they lay there in silence, he pictured Bitty as a little kid, gap-toothed and white-blonde in the pictures Suzanne showed him. Bitty scared, protected by his parents.

“I can hear you thinkin’,” Bitty said, voice muffled. “We can talk about it later, OK? They didn’t disown me. Mama said they love us. And Coach said...” Bitty’s voice caught, but he recovered. “Coach said you played a strong game.”

Jack closed his eyes. A strong game.

“Really, sweetheart. Later.” Bitty moved even closer. “I just want to rest now.”

Jack lay still when he woke, not wanting to bump Bitty and wake him up. His thoughts drifted to his own parents. He’d never really come out to them. In the hospital after his overdose, his relationship with Kent was just one of the list of things to which he’d confessed, and likely the one that gave them the least pause. Probably, he realized in hindsight, they’d already known and were just waiting for his confirmation. Later, when they met Camilla, they’d never given any indication they were happy she was female--they were just happy Jack was dating. When he told them about Bitty, their reaction was the same. They were aware of how much extra pressure the world’s reaction to Jack’s sexuality might put on him, but beyond that worry, they honestly didn’t care.

Bob and Alicia were very different people than Richard and Suzanne Bittle. Geography, education, religion--these all played a part in how each parented their children. There were similarities, though. Jack knew how proud Bitty’s parents were of his accomplishments. Just like his own parents, they loved their son. He hoped it would be enough.

Much of the time, Jack was so focused on his own fears and anxieties that he barely had time to consider anybody else’s, but being closeted to his family had torn Bitty apart for months. It was better, Jack reasoned, that they knew, even if they weren’t fully comfortable with it. They’d adjust over time. Until they did, Jack would pay more attention, would be sure Bitty got whatever he needed.

Jack looked down at the man asleep next to him, a hand still fisted in Jack’s t-shirt. _I would do anything for you,_ he thought. _This is just the beginning._

**Author's Note:**

> Please come visit me on [Tumblr](https://coffeewithconsequences.tumblr.com/) or read the rest of my fic here at [Archive of Our Own](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeWithConsequences/works)!


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